


Succor

by ThereIsNoTragedyInThat



Series: On All Fronts [3]
Category: Triple Frontier (2019)
Genre: Boys In Love, Emotionally Repressed, Fluff, Francisco can't handle love, Hurt Francisco Morales, M/M, Mild Angst, Mission Fic, that's okay Santiago can
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 10:35:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28652109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThereIsNoTragedyInThat/pseuds/ThereIsNoTragedyInThat
Summary: The mission didn't go as expected.
Relationships: Santiago "Pope" Garcia/Francisco "Catfish" Morales
Series: On All Fronts [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2077473
Comments: 4
Kudos: 28





	Succor

**Author's Note:**

> From the intimacy prompt list: Palm kiss

Francisco’s hands were curled tightly around the steering wheel, knuckles white and leather, molding into the shape of his fingers. His eyes were steady in front of him, posture tense as behind him there was a creative bout of cursing from the team. It took inhuman effort to maintain his speed so as not to draw attention to their vehicle as they began to enter more crowded back roads, their truck thankfully fitting in with the other beaten and broken ones around them.

This had not been a clean getaway.

Jaw clenched tightly, he grimaced at the sensation of warmth slipping down his side, ribs aching fiercely where a bullet had grazed him before he was shoved hard into the ground only forty minutes ago. The wound was superficial, barely an inconvenience…except that it shouldn’t have happened in the first place, not if the military hadn’t fucked up their intel so spectacularly.

“Frankie? You good?” Benny’s voice was labored, chest heaving from their last mad sprint through the gunfire.

He grunted in reply, his temper flaring.

There was shuffling, some shoving and pushing from the sounds of it and then a very familiar body was scrambling into the passenger seat, trying and failing to gracefully make the transition while a rifle remained slung over his front. Francisco didn’t spare him a glance, eyes settled firmly on the mountains in the distance, the ones they still needed to get past to really be home free. 

“How bad is it?” Santiago’s tone betrayed his concern, hands already closing the short space between them, reaching for his shirt.

It was enough to make him release his death grip on the wheel, batting his hands away and snapping, “it’s fine, barely a graze.”

He wasn’t deterred, never really was when it came to one of them being wounded but Francisco in particular. They hit a pothole hard, jostling the vehicle and prompting him to grip the wheel again as Santiago snagged his shirt and began rucking it up.

“Barely a graze,” he muttered. “That explains why you’re bleeding all over the seat eh?”

“Fuck off,” he grumbled. “déjalo.”

Santiago twisted to peer at the others in the back seat, “Ironhead, pass me a med pack.”

“I said-”

“I know what you said, shut up and drive.”

Huffing, he focused back on the road, recognizing a losing battle when he saw one. Francisco wasn’t oblivious, he knew that patching up the team calmed Santiago’s nerves like nothing else…and besides, if they ran into trouble before reaching the rendezvous point, it’ll help not to be bleeding all over himself.

“Hey, you good?” Will asked as he passed it over.

“I’m good.”

“He will be,” Santiago corrected.

Before he could comment, gauze was pressed firmly to his side, making him hiss. He flinched hard enough to make the vehicle veer to the right for a moment, earning a round of protests and a few irate honks from the car behind him. Francisco flipped both his teammates and the car the bird in wordless reply.

Santiago chuckled quietly as he finished patching him up, the others talking quietly in the background, working out backup plans and going over how the intel could be so fucked. Francisco already knew they’d be obsessing over it for the next few days and the commanding officer would have hell to pay once Tom got in front of him.

Biting off the tape he used to close up the wound, Santiago leaned back in the passenger seat, clearly satisfied with his work, “I’ll get you a new shirt as soon as we reach the rendezvous.”

Frankie didn’t reply, eyes darting to the rear-view mirror, noting the dark car that had started following them down a side road. He wasn’t too worried about this particular one, though his caution didn’t go unnoticed as Santiago followed his gaze. It didn’t last, the car veered off another road not five minutes later, leaving them alone on this smaller road.

The others in the back seemed to have settled down, the clicking of metal and plastic the only clue that their attention had turned to reloading and getting ready for a second round. Francisco found his foot laying it on a little heavier, well aware that the upcoming cave would be a wonderful spot for a last-minute ambush.

Taking a hand off the wheel for a moment to adjust his cap, the move was intercepted by Santiago reaching across and snagging it with his own. Stilling, Francisco shot him a look, shaking his head just a little as his eyes darted to the backseat.

Nobody seemed to be paying attention but that didn’t mean it would last.

It wasn’t as though they were a secret, whatever the hell they were, wasn’t like he thought the others would be particularly shocked to see them holding hands…though he was pretty dumbfounded by the casual intimacy of it, it was more to do with the fact that this was hardly the place or time for it.

They didn’t do public displays of affection, as a rule. Not that they had talked about it, but it seemed pretty clear after a couple of months that it would be kept to darkened hotel rooms and seedy bars.

Not this.

Santiago, however, didn’t seem to be having any issue with it as he dragged Francisco’s hand closer. Not daring to lift his eyes from the road, which had grown rough again, he felt rather than saw Santiago press his lips to the back of his hand in a chaste kiss. He spared a moment to glance in the mirror, found Benny and Will staring intently out the window, watching their six and Tom’s eyes fixed firmly forward in a way that was decidedly awkward.

He tried to tug his hand away discreetly, only for Santiago to make a small noise in protest, grip shifting down to hold his hand by his wrist and this Francisco did look at when another kiss was pressed to his open palm. His stomach swooped as Santiago looked back with knowing eyes, lips pressing once more to the tips of his fingers, taking his time like they weren’t running for their lives right then.

Francisco was intimately aware that his hands were stained with his own blood, nails thick with dirt and grime of the forest floor but none of it seemed to matter and he got the distinct impression that if he could, Santiago would be placing these kisses on his wound instead.

The car jostled again forcing him to look back at the road, swallowing thickly around the suddenly thunderous pounding of his heartbeat. The air between them felt infused with tension, with intent and he wasn’t quite sure what to do about it, how to live with this feeling for the three and half hours it would take to get back to the base.

Though…as per his luck, the moment was shattered in a hailstorm of bullets and shouts from the team just as they entered the last tunnel through the mountains. There was a squeeze against his hand before he was released and the brief flash of Santiago’s smile before all hell broke loose.


End file.
